The Incident At The Servants Ball
by Hemmingweigh
Summary: As music plays and wine flows at the post-Christmas dance for staff, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes do something so unexpected it gets the whole house talking.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is an alternative development to the servants' ball at the end of season two. Characters aren't mine, though of course, I wish they were. **_

**The Day After The Servants Ball**

The reverberations of the dressing gong had sounded throughout the house, sending members of the Grantham family up the stairs to their bedrooms to dress for dinner. Edith had finished with her dress and hair, and was in Mary's room to discuss the latest gossip. Mary gave her sister a wary eye through the mirror in front of her.

"But I didn't see it. I don't believe you."

Edith let her face go slack. "Of course you don't believe me, but I wasn't the only one that saw them." She had been standing in front of the bedroom door and walked over to the bed. She plopped on the edge. "I think it's rather romantic, all those years of working together and never saying anything of it."

"Seems improper to me," said Mary. She inspected one of the black jewels on her beaded necklace, then took a closer look. It was chipped. She made a face. "Now I've got to get this fixed."

"What?"

"Nothing. My necklace. I'll tell Anna to send it to London." She ducked as she pulled the jewellery off, then dug around a lacquered box in front of her for a replacement. "This simply won't do."

"What won't?"

Mary looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. "I don't understand it. They know they're supposed dedicate themselves to the house above anything else. Carson knows that better than anyone."

Edith shrugged. "And? Can't a man follow a life that goes beyond serving you?"

"Not Carson."

Edith gave her a smug look. "You want him all for yourself do you?"

"No, of course not. It's just odd, that's all. And anyway," she grabbed a long, navy-colored necklace and swung it over her head, then pursed her lips and turned her face. "It's _his_ life. Just because he's a butler doesn't mean can't do what he wants."

Edith detected sarcasm in Mary's voice. "You sound jealous."

Mary turned and glared at her sister, draping her arm across the chair. "He can do what he wants, but there are consequences when servants start fraternising with one another. Anna and Bates are one thing, but this… this is almost sacrilegious. The butler and housekeeper? They're supposed to set the example for the staff. It breaks every rule in the book on domestic loyalty." She got up and walked to the door. "Well, I'm going down."

Edith stood and slouched out of the room behind her sister, wondering if Mary was too rigid in her opinions of the staff. She couldn't help thinking, though, that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had indeed crossed a boundary in what they had done.

- CE -

**The Night Of The Ball**

Charles Carson climbed up the wine cellar stairs, carrying two black bottles in either hand. He pushed through the small wave of exhaustion that greeted him at the top, and finally stepped into the corridor. He squinted. Even the dim light was hard on his eyes after the darkness of the cellar. He shut the door behind him, tucked a bottle under his arm and locked it.

The staff were rushing about more than usual tonight, not out of business, but excitement. It was the night of the servants ball, the one time each year they could engage in some amount of fun in the opulent world upstairs. They drank from the family's glasses, ate from their trays, even sat down on some of the furniture. Carson bristled. He never felt comfortable with any of it, this mixing of the two worlds. It wasn't right. Suppose some of the dust on their uniforms ended up on the chairs? It just meant more cleaning for the maids.

He heard footsteps coming towards him and looked up. It was Mrs. Hughes, wearing a dark dress and pinned-back hair. She looked very normal, very shipshape. He was glad to see that she had not put on any peripherals like jewellery, or paraphernalia of the hair for the ball. He liked to think that part of her disliked the idea of the servants ball as much as he did, though he knew that probably wasn't true. She smiled at him, and he felt a small, familiar warmth inside.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," he said, frowning and glancing down at his bottles. "I've chosen a couple of Merlots for tonight. Obviously I don't want to use the family's _best_ wine but these two should be good enough for the staff."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it," she said, agreeably. Her maids and his footmen would hardly know the difference between a Merlot and a Bordeaux; they were just glad to have a few hours off. Still, she knew how much Carson prided himself in his understanding of wine, and he had indeed made the Downton wine cellar the envy of other households. She wouldn't tease him about it. "Most of the preparations are finished upstairs, and the maids are ready to go up."

"Good," Carson replied. He stood still.

"I suppose you're not looking forward to this again," she said, waiting to meet his eye.

"Not particularly." He shifted his feet and looked down the hallway. "You know I don't like these things."

"Yes I know, but maybe tonight will be different."

"Why should it be?"

"Well, apparently you've chosen some very good Merlots for tonight." She grinned at him, and he couldn't help smiling back at her. Mrs. Hughes wanted him to feel comfortable, confident, and so she pulled at his arm and put her hand through it. "Now, are you ready to escort me up to the ball, Mr. Carson?" she said heightening her Scottish brogue. It took him by surprise, but Carson enjoyed the feeling of her hand on his arm.

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," he said, straightening his back and leading her down the corridor. When they got to the end where the other staff were gathered, Elsie Hughes instinctively pulled her hand away in case the others saw.

- CE -

**The Day After**

The steam-filled kitchen was empty save for Daisy, Mrs. Patmore and a single kitchen maid chopping onions in the corner.

"It were the strangest thing," Daisy said as she kneaded the dough in front of her. "It were just out of nowhere."

"Well I'm sure there's a good explanation," said Mrs. Patmore. She looked around to make sure neither Mr. Carson nor Mrs. Hughes might be walking past, then leaned in to whisper. "You know they've always had a thing for each other."

"They never!" Daisy exclaimed.

Mrs. Patmore pushed out her lips and nodded, sagely. She spun around and wiped her hands on her apron. "Now where did I put that parseley…"

"I can't believe they actually liked each other like that," Daisy told the dough in front of her. "I mean, I know they spend a lot of time together, but, they never said anything that made it sound like they liked each other in that way."

Mrs. Patmore looked back at Daisy and arched her brows. "Do two people need to declare their undying love, out loud, to show that they like each other? No, of course not. It's more _subtle_ than that." She started scanning the countertop beside the sink, muttering to herself. "I'd put it here when I took the butter…"

"I know that. I mean, I know that you don't have to make it obvious. But they just never seemed… that way inclined. If you know what I-"

"Oh you'd be surprised," Mrs. Patmore snorted, looking up at the shelves. "When you work together for _that _many years, you start to know more about the other person than you do about yourself. Sometimes it doesn't lead to anything. But sometimes you wake up and 'hey presto!'"

Daisy stopped and looked up at her, confusion on her face. "What?"

"Oh there you are you little beggar." Mrs. Patmore grabbed a wilting bunch of green parsley tucked behind one of the chopping boards.

"What do you mean 'hey presto?'"

Mrs. Patmore sighed with exasperation. _Why did this girl need everything explained to her?_ "I mean you wake up and you realise that you actually love the person you've been working with all that time, sort of like…" She looked around, then shook the parsley at Daisy, "Finding something that's gone missing!"

"Oh right," Daisy said. She went back to kneading her dough.

- CE -

**The Night Of The Ball**

A bouncy rendition of _Tales from the Vienna Woods_ by Johann Strauss Jr. was playing, and the servants and Grantham family were, for the first time in a year, dancing with one another. It was the only time that the staff and their employers got this close physically, but such was the effect of the Waltz or Foxtrot. Dance was the institution that brought their two worlds together. Not every household did it, and many would only hold a servants ball in their downstairs domain. But the Granthams were among the more generous families to offer their hall space upstairs, and their crockery and food and wine.

For all his puffing about tradition, the real reason Carson disliked the servants ball was that he wasn't fond of dancing. Not one bit. He had felt that old tension creeping up on him once the music started, and those first brave individuals had sashayed across the dance floor.

Mrs. Hughes spotted him from across the hall and walked over to stand beside him, surveying the scene from her lower height.

He leaned over to her. "I had a horrible dream last night," he said.

"Oh. What about?"

"Dancing. And stepping on her Ladyship's shoes."

Mrs. Hughes stifled a chuckle and patted his arm. "You'll be fine, Mr. Carson. You always manage."

"Am I?" he asked. In the many years he had been doing this, Carson had never actually trodden on Lady Grantham's feet, but he had come perilously close on a few occasions. Enough to make him break out into a cold sweat each time it was his turn to dance with her. How he hated this sort of thing.

"It's all just a bit of fun," Mrs. Hughes said. "Might as well try and enjoy yourself." She disappeared for a few moments, then came back with two glasses of Merlot, large ones. "Here."

Carson took it, gratefully.

"Cheers," he said.

They clinked their glasses and drank, then surveyed the dance floor again. Mrs. Hughes turned up to the butler, watching him scan the room with a tight-jaw and furrowed brow. He was nervous all right.

She let herself wonder, just for a moment, what it might feel like if he were to dance with her. In all the previous servants' balls they had done at the house, they had never danced together. In a way it was odd that they hadn't, since they worked so closely. But a part of Mrs. Hughes sensed that if the two of them got this close it might be dangerous. It might make them feel something. _After all these years._ She swirled her wine and took another sip. It was good to stand next to him. It always felt right, proper even. She tried to enjoy the feeling, their rare moment of downtime together, even though it was in the middle of scores of other people.

There was an interlude in the music and the pair saw Lady Grantham part ways from the crowd. She was walking towards Carson.

They both smiled and nodded at her. "I hope you're ready to waltz," Mrs. Hughes said through gritted teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Day After The Servants Ball**

The dinning room was silent save for the clinking of silverware and the light, muffled chewing of mutton. The Dowager Countess had joined the Grantham family for dinner, and was poking her fork at a pile of mashed potato.

She pursed her lips at it, investigating, wondering whether to go for it or not. The trouble was that it was topped by shavings of parsley, and she wasn't a fan. There had been one-too many moments in the past where a stray fleck of the green stuff had found its way onto one of her front teeth, in full view of the audience she was sharing some wise monologue with. She tried not to think of the memory and picked up some green beans. She chewed. _Not bad_.

No one was saying anything, so she decided to break the silence.

"Were you quite happy with the servants ball last night?" She addressed the question to Lady Grantham.

"Oh yes, it went off beautifully," Cora replied, forcing a smile.

The Dowager nodded. "Yes I thought it was rather good, this time. I'm can't say I'm at all accustomed to that gramophone, though."

"We could try to find some music that you like, perhaps from an older era," said Edith. She suddenly regretted the latter suggestion, and looked away.

"Mm," the Dowager said, nodding. "Yes well, regardless of the era there's nothing quite like listening to real musicians in the flesh."

"Quite right," Lord Grantham said.

"So the staff were happy with the event?" The Dowager asked again, this in spite of the fact that there were two footmen and a butler in the room with them, whom she could have asked directly. Of course, to address the servants in the dining room would have been beyond strange. It was better to act as though they weren't there at all.

Robert and his wife exchanged a glance. The Dowager caught it and cocked her head. No one could see Carson stiffen.

"Very much so," Cora said sweetly. "Carson picked some good wines for the evening. The food was delicious. Everyone enjoyed themselves -"

"Some people more than others," said a voice. Everyone looked at Mary. She glared around. "What?"

"What does that mean?" Violet asked. She had picked up the scent of some gossip and was keen to hunt it down.

"I mean," said Mary, "_some_ members of the staff had a better time than others." She shot Carson a dark look, but he stared ahead.

Violet looked at her then Carson, confused. "Am I missing something?"

"Let's talk about it later, shall we?" said Robert. He took a sip from his wine.

They went back to eating their meal.

- CE -

**The Night Of The Ball**

The music had started again.

"M'Lady," Carson said, bowing reverently to Lady Grantham. "Might I have have the pleasure of this dance?"

Mrs. Hughes was trying very hard not to giggle, knowing this was hardly a pleasure for him.

"I would be delighted," Cora answered. He held out his hand for her and lifted his chin, exuding confidence. They glided onto the dance floor.

_He looks like he knows exactly what he's doing, _Mrs. Hughes thought. _You'd never know._ She watched closely, well aware of what was going on inside his head.

_One two three, one two three, _he was thinking._ Not on the feet, not on the feet. _

"Carson, you do the waltz so well," Cora said. The remark sounded genuine enough but he imagined she was mostly trying to encourage him.

_You mean I hide the fact that I cannot waltz very well, _he thought. _Damn and blast, please don't engage me in conversation. One two three, one two three…_

"Thank you M'Lady," he said stiffly. "I do my best." _… two three. _He was mouthing the numbers now.

Cora tried not to smile. Carson was looking ahead, past her shoulder, thinking only of his feet and of the counting.

The music went on for several minutes more, and Carson's brain was working overtime to put his feet in exactly the right place, trying to ignore the beads of sweat that were appearing on his forehead. He wished desperately to wipe his brow but of course, both hands were occupied leading Lady Grantham.

Then for a heart-stopping moment his concentration slipped and he put his right foot forward when it should have gone backwards. His eyes widened and his foot shot back to where it should have gone. Crisis narrowly averted. He looked over at Mrs. Hughes, and saw that she had her hand on her mouth, trying not to laugh. That woman.

Then she was looking up, the hand gone. Lord Grantham had approached her with his hand out, asking to dance. She nodded and took it, joining him on the dance floor. She was much better than Carson at this. Far more graceful and inwardly confident. A butler's livery only did so much when it came to making an impression.

Finally the music finished and everyone clapped. Carson wanted to yell with relief, but instead he bowed to Lady Grantham and thanked her. As he turned to back to the sidelines he surreptitiously whipped out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. The worst part was over. Now he could relax.

He found his way to the tray of wine and took another glass, drinking the Merlot happily. He surveyed the room again. This time the energy and the music appealed to him. He would never have shared this with the other staff, but now that dancing with Lady Grantham was over, he was rather enjoying himself. There was just one more ingredient that would make this perfect-

"Did you survive the waltz with her Ladyship?" Mrs. Hughes asked, sidling up next to him again.

Ah, there was his last ingredient. He side-stepped closer to her. "Yes, I'm still here. And her feet are still intact."

"Good. We can avoid calling Dr. Clarkson, then."

'"I see you fared rather well with His Lordship," Carson observed, taking another sip of the wine. Yes he was feeling very warm now, comfortable even.

"Well, it's the same thing every year isn't it," she said, shrugging. They watched the dancing for a while, enjoying the wine and each other's quiet commentary.

All the servants balls of years past had blended into one very large memory for Mrs. Hughes. Every year Carson danced with her Ladyship, Mrs. Hughes with His Lordship. The routine was never broken. Lord Grantham would engage in some manner of small talk with her, and she would oblige him with the odd, vague answer. Employers didn't pry too deeply into the lives of their servants. It just wasn't done. So when they were forced into conversation, it tended to be rather boring and stilted.

_Wouldn't it be good_, she thought, _if one year we broke the routine, did something a little different. _

She looked up at Carson and put her hand in the crook of his elbow again. He instinctively lifted his forearm to accept it, then glanced down at her, surprised. Her eyes smiled at him and he relaxed. A new song was starting up, and some of the servants had taken to the floor now to dance with one another. A few members of the Grantham family had gone up to bed; the Dowager Countess had gone home.

_Perhaps_, Elsie Hughes thought. _Perhaps…_

"Care to give dancing another try?" she ventured.

Carson blinked, then arched his eyebrows. Suddenly she felt foolish for asking. Of course he didn't want to dance again. He hated dancing. It didn't matter if it was with her. Now she had put him in an awkward position because she'd toyed with the foolish idea of doing something different.

But he hadn't said "no," not yet. Carson was thinking for a moment.

"You don't mind that I might... crush one of your toes?" he asked.

Her face softened. "I'm made of stern stuff, Mr. Carson," she teased, suddenly feeling a rush of excitement. They were really going to do it. "No, of course I don't mind at all."

She slipped her hand out of his arm as they walked onto the dance floor, slow, grand figures amidst a whirling mass of other bodies. The music seemed to fill their ears now that they were standing here; it was all encompassing. It was another waltz. He took her hand and held it aloft, and placed his other hand gently on the small of her back, bringing her in to him.

She looked up and smiled. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He stood up straight, lifted his chin, and moved forward. She glided with him, perfectly in sync.

Carson immediately felt how different this was to dancing with Lady Grantham. The tension he'd felt earlier was gone. The feeling was different. Whereas he felt unbalanced holding her Ladyship, this felt… perfect.

He took all the right steps, one to the back, one to the right, one to the front. _One two three, one two three, one two..._ For some reason it was easier this time. He barely had to count to himself. For once, his feet had a mind and memory of their own, and it afforded him the opportunity to look down at the woman in front of him. She had a contented look on her face, a small, constant smile.

_This is wonderful,_ Elsie Hughes thought. _Just wonderful_. She grasped his hand and moved in a little closer to him as they waltzed around the dance floor adeptly. _He doesn't seem nervous at all, and neither am I_. She wanted this moment to go on forever, and she tried to push away the reminder that soon this would be over. A small part of her briefly imagined resting her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him. She pushed that thought away, very firmly this time.

Mrs. Patmore was sitting on the sidelines and watching. So was Lady Edith. They recalled never seeing Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes dance together, but the two were clearly enjoying themselves. They were both smiling for one thing, and Carson looked much more relaxed than usual. Mrs. Patmore raised her eyebrows and nodded to herself. _Not surprised_.

The music took a dramatic turn, reaching a crescendo and becoming ever more sumptuous. Carson felt himself taken by it all. The euphoria of having finished his earlier duty, the sweet, loose feeling of the wine, and more than anything the feel of holding her so closely. He was looking at her now, taking each step with easy confidence and a surprising satisfaction. He knew these steps. He'd always known them. Why hadn't he believed that before? Holding her, this woman who had worked steadfastly with him for all these years, who had encouraged him and listened to him patiently, she was the reason he could believe it now.

His confidence surging, he pressed her in momentarily and smiled.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, Mrs. Hughes," he said.

"I am," she replied. "Very much." _How I wish that this would never end_. Her eyes sent him the message, and she sensed that he got it, because in that moment he squeezed her hand firmly, and in return she let her left hand scratch lightly at his shoulder. They had never been so intimate.

A crescendo again, and a slowing down of the music. The dance was ending, and they slowed with the others to a stop. Everyone was clapping. The pair hardly heard it. They looked at each other and smiled again, lowering their arms but still holding hands. _You thank your dance partner at the end of a number, don't you?_ Carson thought._ Of course_. And without thinking he pushed up her chin with his hand and leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

Lightly, every so lightly. It was a 'thank you.' That was all. She closed her eyes and took the kiss, and it seemed as though all the sounds and images around them had suddenly disappeared into nothingness. There was only Charles Carson becoming part of Elsie Hughes for the short, surprising moment that his lips lovingly grazed hers. And she smiled, then grinned against his mouth, her eyes still closed. She had never felt so happy.

Lady Edith and Daisy's mouths both dropped open. Mrs. Patmore glanced across at the dance floor and then did a double take, her eyes widening. She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. _Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear_. Cora Grantham was standing by the table of canapes when she looked over and saw them, and nearly lost her grip on a wine glass. A few other servants saw it too, but most looked away quickly. They had happened in on rare moment between the pair, so public and yet so very private. It felt odd, even wrong to look. Daisy turned around and suddenly found the gramophone very interesting.

The moment passed and Carson's head was moving back up, away, removing his hand from her back. He felt complete. It had only been a second. It had only been the lightest of kisses. It could have even been mistaken for a peck on the cheek. There was nothing wrong with it, really.

But... people had seen it, and a few had almost been expecting it to happen after watching how the two of them had danced together. He was just starting to realize.

Carson straightened, suddenly aware. Mrs. Hughes bit her lip. She knew something had happened, something mischievous and, dare she think it, improper. But she couldn't think what. All that Merlot. Those bottles had been very good choices indeed.

"We'd better get off the dance floor," Carson murmured as he led her to the sidelines and a new song started up.

"Mr. Carson," she breathed as they reached the edge of the floor. "Thank you for the dance. That was lovely."

"It was," he said. "Though I'm not sure what just happened there."

"Me neither. I only know it was rather enjoyable."

He locked eyes with her. "I wasn't expecting that at all."

_He had kissed her. They had kissed. In front of everyone_. The thought hit him like punch to the face and he closed his eyes, raising his eyebrows.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

"Yes. Fine." He pinched his eyes. "A little concerned, actually, about what others might have gathered from that."

Mrs. Hughes felt a small shiver go over her. Wasn't this the sort of thing she berated her own maids for? There was to be no improper behavior between staff, and now the two house managers had publicly defied the rules. Technically, it was a fireable offence. But somehow these thoughts did not penetrate her too deeply._ It doesn't matter_, she thought. _None of that matters as much as what we both felt just now_. She was being ridiculously romantic, and at her age! But it didn't matter.

"I'm not worried, Mr. Carson," she said. "You were being very sweet and kind. I'm sure we can leave it at that."

He nodded. A small part of him hoped they wouldn't leave it at that.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, but I wish they were. Thank you for reading and for all the lovely reviews till now! **_

**The Night After The Servants Ball**

Lady Grantham stared at a book in the dim light of her bedside lamp, and heard the sound of a door creaking open. It clicked shut.

"Well that was interesting, wasn't it," she said, still peering at the pages in front of her.

"What?"

She looked up at her husband, exasperated. He had chosen the turquoise dressing gown tonight. "Oh come on, Robert. You know what I mean."

"No," he said. "I don't. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I presume the staff will be content for the next few months…"

Cora narrowed her eyes. "So you didn't see see what Carson and Mrs. Hughes did during one of the last dances."

Robert looked nonplussed. "No?" He stood by the bed now. His hand rested on the knot of his dressing gown, ready to unravel it once he'd heard her answer.

She set her book down on the bed and looked around. "They kissed!" she said, whispering in that manner devoted to salacious gossip.

"What?"

"He kissed her."

Robert snorted. "Carson? Kissed Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes! And this was no peck on the cheek, Robert. This was…" She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"What? This was what?"

"This was something else."

"Hm."

Robert let his mind digest this information as he undid his belt and threw the dressing gown over a chair. He climbed into bed with his wife, then turned to her.

"Carson kissed Mrs. Hughes?" He still wasn't sure he had heard her correctly.

"Yes. I saw it. It was after the Strauss number, while everyone was clapping. He just leaned over and kissed her. It lasted a few seconds, at least."

"Oh come now, Cora." He looked embarrassed. "Surely you weren't counting."

"Robert, it was a long kiss. It was very out-of-the-ordinary. And several of the staff saw it."

"Hmm."

She shook her head. "I don't know what we should do." She pretended to read her book again.

Robert raised his eyebrows. "Do we need to do anything?"

"I was thinking that maybe you should say something to Carson."

"What! I'm not saying anything of the sort to Carson." Robert tugged at the bed covers nervously. "How very unseemly."

"Well, I can't say anything to Mrs. Hughes!"

"Why ever not?"

"Because that wouldn't be at all comfortable."

"It's not a comfortable conversation in either circumstance," he said, staring off for a moment. "If they've got some sort of… relationship now, do you think we should ask them to stop?"

Cora sighed. "I don't know."

"Because we didn't do that with Anna and Bates."

"I know."

Robert furrowed his brow. "But this is different I suppose. They're in charge down there. They ought to be focused on the staff. That's what we pay them for. If they're suddenly… _in love_…" His raised his eyebrows, as if this were the most outlandish statement he'd made in years. "It means they're distracted from not only their duties, but overseeing everyone else's."

"It sounds harsh," Cora said, squinting at her pages, "but I think it's true."

- CE -

**The Night Of The Ball**

Mrs. Hughes knew she would soon have to gather Anna and the other maids. They needed to bring some of the trays and glassware down, and clean up after the night's ball. Normally, she would have felt the itch to go and tell one of them, but there was no itch now. It had been replaced by something else entirely. The feeling of Mr. Carson standing next to her and the euphoric memory him kissing her like that, out of nowhere.

A small, indistinguishable knot had also formed in her stomach. For a while she couldn't pinpoint why, but now Elsie knew. This encounter of theirs had been in full view of other staff.

For the last few decades, the job of Downton's housekeeper had been to ensure that _her_ maids did not flirt with_ his_ footmen. She'd cast an eagle eye on any and every act that looked like it could go beyond platonic. She had the key to the maids' quarters, kept separate from the men's so that no fraternisation whatsoever could ever take place. She would give them the stone-cold stare if they so much as looked at another man the wrong way.

And now here she was. Here Carson was. Two hypocrites standing side by side.

She couldn't help it. Suddenly she wanted to smile. She pressed her mouth together to control the expression._ How can I possibly find this amusing?_ she thought.

Because… because… The thought was in her head, buried somewhere, struggling to dig its way out. Because…_ It did not matter as much as I thought it did_.

It came to her like a shot of light. Save for Anna and Bates, whose relationship had been so gradual she'd hardly noticed it, she had sought to extinguish any hint of love between those who served under her. So had Carson. And so naturally, they had smothered any feeling between each other.

But now it had taken something out of the ordinary - the intoxicating beauty of music, the feel of their hands pressed together, the warmth of his body next to hers - to forget all of that for just a moment. He had kissed her. And now her eyes were open to the powerful truth of love between two people. It was love, wasn't it?

Elsie wondered if the wheels in Carson's head were turning as much as hers. She wanted him to be thinking the same thing she was, but Charles Carson was a good butler precisely because he could shield himself from matters of the heart. He loved the values of old. He loved standards and integrity. _And I love him_, she thought, surprising herself a little. _I do love him_. She wondered if he felt the same, after so many years of routine, discipline and suppression.

Carson cleared his throat and leaned in to say something to her quietly. The music was still playing, a final, downtempo song, and Thomas was dancing with a half-smiling Daisy, along with two other couples.

"I hope you'll forgive me for being so familiar just now. It was incorrect."

He stood back up and glanced at her awkwardly, standing up on his toes for a moment and falling back, sniffing for no reason, wondering if he had just wounded her. Had he? Hadn't this just been a moment of madness that they could just forget? He didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid. A kiss was a kiss, but between the two of them, it was more.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in, before Elsie felt her shoulders slump, her hopes slide a little. What was she to say to that? She was finally putting the pieces of something together in her mind, pieces that added up to a picture of a greater happiness than she had known till now, free of obligation and the old values she'd hoisted on herself and others, rendered irrelevant when she looked into the eyes of this man. Elsie wondered. She looked at the floor, and decided that there was no point holding back. She would be honest with him. The wine would help.

"Mr. Carson," she said in a low voice. "I know that what you did just now could be deemed improper. But it was… lovely. I was_ glad _for it."

He had not been expecting that. _I mustn't give in, _he thought,_ Must not give in_.

He took a slow breath. "You were?"

The final song was coming to an end, and Daisy and Thomas looked like an odd couple on the floor, Daisy smiling broadly and Thomas pursing his lips in an attempt to look dignified.

"Yes. I enjoyed the dance. Very much. But… just now." She lowered hire voice to a whisper. "When you kissed me…"

Carson felt his face redden.

"I enjoyed that even more."

"Mrs. Hughes this is-"

"I know it's _improper_," she said. "I know that."

They both looked at the dance floor as the music finished. People were clapping again. There were a few seconds before they would have to start giving directions to clear the hall and prepare the house for the following day. A few seconds to decide what they were going to do about all of this.

"But?" said Carson.

She shook her head incredulously. "I don't care," she said, her Scottish lilt stronger than normal. She looked at Carson, expecting his eyebrows to be heading for the ceiling, but his face was expressionless. He was watching, tuned into her every word, and her heart ached for what she wanted to say but couldn't. "I suppose you haven't any idea what I've felt all these years. No idea at all."

He stared at her blankly. "Well I- I-" he stammered.

"I shouldn't really say. Not here." She let out a slow breath and looked beyond Carson to Lord Grantham, who was now thanking everyone for their work and bidding them a good evening. Then he was climbing the stairs with Lady Grantham, followed close behind by Bates and Miss O'Brien. Elsie Hughes turned back to Carson and gave him a small smile. "Right. Let's just say that if I were to breathe my last breath tomorrow, I would die a happy woman." She thought of kissing his cheek, but she put her hand on his arm and squeezed it briefly, then walked towards the maids.

"Let's get these trays downstairs," she said, her voice suddenly loud and commanding. "Anna's with Lady Mary but she can take care of these tables tomorrow. Daisy, I need… "

Carson stood watching her, his face full of wonder. There was something strangely comforting about the knowledge that he had made her happy.

Then he remembered the silverware needed to go back down to his pantry. He turned and faced Thomas, going on autopilot to issue a series of directions.

All the while his mind replayed over and over, the act of stooping down and kissing the woman he had been in love with for more years than he could remember.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine but I'd take 'em in a heartbeat. Thanks again for reading and for your reviews! Previous chapter had lots of fluff, but not this one. Getting close to the end now. **_

**The Night Of The Servants Ball**

The cleaning was done. The footmen had lugged all the silverware downstairs to Mr. Carson's pantry. Somehow a dim echo of the music and laughter was still present in the hall, now large and empty. Downstairs the last of the servants were putting buckets into cupboards, closing drawers, emptying pots into the sink and wiping their hands on their aprons. It was finally time for bed, and at midnight the corridors below were dark and still.

Mrs. Hughes rubbed at her eyes and locked the door to her sitting room. She stood there inspecting the door knob for a while, wondering what to do. It was time to head upstairs. Go to bed. Do it all over again tomorrow morning. But then she might as well say good night to him. He would probably brush everything off as some minor mistake, now deeply buried and long forgotten. She was used to his distaste for anything sentimental, and she would let that slide off her like she always did. Still, she had to say goodnight to Carson, because she cared for him.

She saw a strip of light from under his door as she got closer, confirming that Carson and Mrs. Hughes were now the last people awake in the house. She stopped at the door and hesitated momentarily. She closed her eyes, and knocked.

"Come in," said a low rumble from inside.

She glided into the room, and he looked up from his desk. There was nothing in front of him. No wine, no ledger. He'd been sitting there, thinking.

"Evening, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "All the crockery's been seen to?"

"Yes, and I just had a few accounts I had to look at afterwards. That's all done." She put her hands together. "I thought I'd just come and say 'goodnight.'"

"Of course." He blinked and looked at her for a few seconds. "Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

"Good night, Mr. Carson."

She turned and reached for the door handle.

"Uh, Mrs. Hughes." Carson was suddenly up from his chair, walking around from his desk, walking towards her.

Her heart pounded.

"There uh, was one other thing I forgot to mention."

"Yes?" She turned to him, saw a face etched deep with apprehension.

"Mr. Bates mentioned that his Lordship might be having a guest over this weekend."

"Ah."

"I'm sure her Ladyship will mention it to you tomorrow, but I thought you might like the extra notice."

"Yes. That's helpful," she nodded. "I'll make sure we get a guest room ready. Thank you." She gave him a tight smile. The poor man, she thought. She half wanted to be forward with him again, to tell him what was in her heart, but she knew he was uncomfortable with all of this, and part of her couldn't bear to upset him. Or bear being rejected.

She turned the handle to leave. Suddenly there was a loud bang from the hallway. She looked back at Carson, mouth agape. "What on Earth?"

They both poked their heads out of the door and saw a copper pot rolling along the hallways and spinning to a stop, the sound of metal on stone reverberating through the walls and ceiling.

"Blast it!" Mrs. Patmore suddenly scuttled out into the hallway to bend down and retrieve the pot. As she got up she was startled to see the pair in the doorway. _Of course they would be together tonight_. "Oh! Evenin'. Kitchen maids naturally didn't clear up like they were supposed to. Too intoxicated with all the wine." She rolled her eyes.

Mrs. Hughes gave a small laugh. "Do make sure you get enough sleep, Mrs. Patmore."

"Oh I will." She nodded and put the pot back, then picked up a small gas light to lead her down the hallway. "Night."

"Good night."

Elsie Hughes watched Mrs. Patmore waddle down the hallway to the staircase, her gas light creating a circular glow around her as she got further away.

Something was different in the room now. She looked down at the floor, ready to leave, ready to go upstairs as she had planned. But from the corner of her eye she could see he was now beside her, and much closer. She wanted to look but dared not, lest she scare him away and ruin the moment. To her surprise, she felt his hand on her shoulder. Except this was no dance. And there was no one around.

His other hand had reached for the door, and slowly nudged it closed.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said softly, "would you wait a moment."

"Certainly," she heard herself say.

Her heart was hammering against her chest now.

He looked down at her, saw that she couldn't look at him, and realised then that she was just as afraid as he was. She'd been so forthright at the servants ball, and now she had clammed up. Now it was his turn to talk. He was desperately afraid of what he was about to say. But there was no point holding back anymore, not when he knew there was a good chance she might return his feelings.

He was inches away from her, so close that he could breathe her in, so close that it was now clear he wanted more than just a casual conversation about the day's work. He saw that she was breathing heavily, and he wanted to soothe her.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently.

"Yes. I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

Her hand slid off the door handle and was at her side. She stole a glance at him and bit her bottom lip. She felt his hand slide down from her shoulder, and clasp her upper arm.

"May I…"

"Yes," she said, nodding. She closed her eyes, felt him lean towards her, felt his lips on hers, and then felt every joint in her body go slack. It was real. It hadn't been a mistake. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She reached up instinctively and cradled his chin in her hands, fingering the small hints of stubble on his cheek that no one knew about. She felt his large hands take hold of her waist, then wrap around her, bringing her closer to him. This wasn't the light kiss of before, but deeper and longer. She felt her mouth open to him, his lips responding in kind. Her mouth watered for him, wanting him more with every passing moment.

She let her fingers play absentmindedly with the hair on the back of his neck, and it awakened something inside him as he suddenly pulled her into him, hard and strong. She grasped more at his hair and neck, her wanting more of him and he of her, this oasis of water after decades of drought.

They needed to breathe, and so he finally pulled himself away and took in air, opening his eyes and staring into hers. She was panting, trying to read his eyes and seeing only love for her in them. He put a hand up and cupped her cheek.

"Mrs. Hughes," he said softly, a faint smile forming. "I fear that was... rather improper."

"I daresay it was," she said. She played with his hair again and relished how much it affected him as he shut his eyes with pleasure. "Kiss me again. Please."

He tilted his head and found her mouth once more, gliding and this time overlapping hers, capturing her bottom lip with his and pulling at her, then biting sensually. She felt her knees almost give way at the sensation and wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck.

Her cheeks were flush, she was glowing, and all of a sudden his kisses had left her mouth and were exploring her cheek, then the line of her jaw and then - she leaned her head back and let out a soft, soft moan - her neck and and throat. Light, warm kisses in places she'd never thought a man would touch, and could have only dreamed of coming from this man. His body surrounded her now, comfortingly, and she could feel his heart pounding against her. His breath was warm against neck. She heard him whisper something, so low she couldn't catch it.

"What's that?" she breathed.

"I said 'I love you.'" He kissed her lips again, lightly, lovingly, then grazed her face and hair with his fingers, letting them trail down to her shoulder and finding a home again at her waist. "And I've wanted you more than I can bear."

She nodded, pulling her lips together in an effort to rein in the flood of emotions that hit her now. He saw that she was fighting tears, that her eyes were wet, and he put a hand to her cheek again. She grasped it with her own and kissed his palm intently, closing her eyes. She wanted him to know that this meant she loved him back with all her heart, and when she looked back at him and saw his own eyes were tinged with red she knew he understood.

"Oh my love," she said, letting herself go for the first time. "My love." She wrapped her arms around him and they held each other fiercely, afraid to let each other go, and of letting the moment become a memory in the whirlwind of reality.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Oh well.**__** Apologies for the delay to this update - next one will be up very shortly. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, and hopefully the back-and-forth in the timeline hasn't been too confusing.**_

**Two Days After the Servants Ball**

Lord Grantham slid his hand down the mahogany staircase railing that led him the last few steps to the ground floor. He met his wife's eyes at the bottom. She was standing in a doorway, looking worried, or perhaps just nervous. He couldn't tell yet.

"Are you certain we should say something to them now?" he said, leaning over to speak to her quietly.

"Yes. Better to resolve the situation before things get anymore complicated," she said. She was wringing her hands. This had been her idea, to bring them up to the drawing room and confront them about what had happened at the servants ball. She didn't want to do it alone though, and neither did he.

"They're among some of the longest-working staff here," Robert said. "We've got to be careful in the way we approach this. Sensitive."

"I completely agree," said Cora, ever the agreeable wife, as they walked into the drawing room. She then leaned over and tugged on a thick strip of fabric for a footman.

Robert balked. "Shouldn't we call Carson directly?" he asked.

"We could, but then he'd get Mrs. Hughes, and then they'd be discussing the matter on the way up. I'd prefer them to get here with little idea of what's coming."

"Why?"

"Don't you think that makes things easier for us?" Cora said, gesturing with her hand.

Robert arched his brow. "I suppose." He settled into a chair, then drummed his fingers, then pulled himself up to standing again. "I'm not going to enjoy this.

- CE -

**The Night of the Servants Ball**

After their embrace, it was the promise of the next morning's work that finally compelled them to let go of one another. Carson might have held her longer, forever if such a thing were possible, but they had been conditioned to remember, almost as an act of survival, to keep nightly activities to a minimum so they could get sufficient sleep.

He held Elsie Hughes in front of him and stroked her hair once more. He didn't want her to suffer the following day. Still, he was wide awake, and now that so many important bridges had been crossed tonight, there was something else he needed to do.

"We should talk about this more," he said.

"But not now," said Elsie, meaning to finish his sentence.

"Actually…" He let his arms hang loose at his sides, a tinge of anxiety over how she might react. "This is going to sound odd, but if we could continue this in my room, I'd like to show you something."

She turned a shade of scarlet. "Whatever do you want to show me?"

"It's, ah," he stammered. "It's not anything untoward, Mrs. Hughes. Please don't think me so bold."

"All right then." She turned to the floor then back up to him. "I can't say I'm all that tired anyway." She put her hands together and narrowed her eyes in the manner of a stern housekeeper, half teasing, half suspicious of what was about to happen.

Inviting Mrs. Hughes to his bedroom to talk was beyond anything Carson would have considered before tonight. The male and female servants quarters were kept far apart for good reason. But he had breached something through his actions at the servants ball. The departure of some wall was making it easier to say things he feared to_ think_ at one time.

He smoothed down his waistcoat and opened the door, as Elsie turned on a portable gas lamp to guide them through the corridors. They made an extra effort to tread lightly, to avoid the steps on the staircase that made the loudest squeaks. Though a stray member of staff might not have batted an eyelid to see them walking together so late, the fear was there. And absolutely no one should see her go into his bedroom, not after the ball.

He walked in front of her until they reached the male servants' wing. He stopped and looked back, flattening his hand to show she should wait. He looked around the corner and down the hallway, making sure it was quiet and empty before encouraging her to proceed. She felt a tremor of anticipation. Normally she would have shunned anything like this, but his kisses had shot down a wall around her heart tonight and she was surprised to feel small pangs of desire.

He opened the door to his room and slipped in quickly, Elsie taking quick strides behind him. She almost bowled him over in her haste.

"Oh sorry."

He shut the door and kissed her forehead, glad to be alone again. He didn't want to lose this feeling, this sudden relaxing of his inhibitions that came from something more than the wine, now long worn off. He wanted to kiss her again, as he'd done downstairs, but he had to hold back. That wasn't why he was here.

He moved to turn on the light and instinctively loosened his bow tie, then took it off and undid the top buttons of his shirt. Elsie couldn't help but notice how much more striking that made him look. He turned his back to her to open a drawer to his dresser. She saw him fish around before taking something out, but she couldn't see what.

"Why don't you sit down," he said, turning and pointing to a chair next to his bed. He set himself down on the edge of the mattress, facing her, noting the apprehension on her face.

He put his hands together on his lap, ready to address her. This was his domain, one of the few places in the house besides his pantry where he could be forthright and open.

"What we did tonight would be deemed unacceptable by the standards you and I have set for the staff here," he said. For a strange moment he felt as though he was berating a footman in his pantry, and he let his hands fall to his sides to appear more relaxed.

"I know," said Elsie. "And I've said it already. I don't care. At least I don't think I do."

He held up his hand, anticipating her interjection. "I know. And you may be surprised to learn that_ I_ don't care either. Not anymore."

She tilted her head. "I am a little surprised."

"But glad, I hope."

"Yes." There was a pause and she noticed him looking at the floor. "I know it's hard to say these things," she said. "This is all very new for us." She took his hand in hers and he looked up at her gratefully.

"You're going to think me very forward," he said.

"Perhaps. But I probably won't mind."

He put a large hand on top of hers, clasping it in both of his. His manner was serious, almost austere. He wanted to get this right.

"I've watched you, and spoken with you, and dined with you, and worked with you for many years. It is not unusual, by any means, for a man to work alongside a woman for so long a period of time and decide to continue devoting himself to his work above any other distracting sentiment." He searched for the right words. "But you have made that... nearly impossible to do."

Elsie sat up straighter and gave him a prim look. "I suppose I should be sorry for that," she teased.

"No," he said. "No, don't be. You're the woman who's managed to pull me away from what I thought would be a single-minded pursuit of vocation. I am grateful for that, now. Very grateful." He turned her hand over and inspected her palm, tracing his hand over her bare fingers.

They was another pause, before she broke the silence. "What do we do now?"

Carson said nothing, and taking that as his cue, edged off the bed and lowered himself onto one knee on the floor in front of her. Despite his age he did it in one fluid movement. He was looking up at her now, at what had morphed into an expression of shock.

"Mr. Carson…"

"Please," he interrupted. "You should call me 'Charles' now. And I'd be grateful if you'd do one other thing for me." He kissed her hand and looked up again. "Be my wife."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine; I've no intention to infringe copyright.**_

**Two Days After the Servants Ball**

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Hughes jolted from the accounts she'd been tallying at her desk. She was, in fact, grateful for the interruption. After the night of the servants ball, and a following day rife with gossip in the house about herself and Mr. Carson, she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Yes?"

Alfred poked his head through the door to her sitting room. "His Lordship and her Ladyship have asked to see you in the drawing room," he said in a soft voice. Mrs. Hughes felt her heart leap, but she responded calmly.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll be right up." He offered no other words or grimace of sympathy, just a nod of his head. It was not his place to give an opinion about even the most daunting message, but she knew he was concerned.

Mrs. Hughes turned back and put her pen on the table, closed her eyes, took a slow breath. _Right_, she thought. _Time to face this_.

She got up from her desk, smoothed down her dress and went to open the door.

**- CE -**

Carson was already upstairs in the drawing room, facing the Granthams, when she entered. Lady Grantham was seated; Lord Grantham was standing. Elsie hesitated for a moment, the gravity of the situation more apparent at the sight of these people. Then she strode forward, her iron keys jangling with each step.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," said Lord Grantham. "Good."

Elsie walked up to Carson and stood next to him, surveying the couple in front of her. Cora suddenly noticed the difference in manner between them: Carson was, as always, upright and completely at her service, but with Mrs. Hughes, she sensed a hint of resistance behind the deferent display.

Elsie and Carson stared ahead, waiting obediently.

"There is an issue we would like to talk to you both about," Cora said. She got up and stood next to her husband. "We know that you've done an admirable job managing the staff at Downton, for many years."

This wasn't sounding good, Carson thought.

"And we have appreciated your ability to keep the servants in line, focused on the work of looking after the house." Cora stopped and glanced at her husband, awkwardly. "We're just a little concerned about a… an incident that seems to have taken place at the servants ball the other night."

Mrs. Hughes stiffened, tightening one hand into a fist, but she sensed nothing from the man beside her.

Lord Grantham interrupted. "It's nothing to be worried about," he said, "as far as your employment here goes. But we were a little bit concerned-" he looked over at Cora and she was nodding-"about an element of… fraternisation that appeared to take place between you both that evening."

"Given that you are heads of the domestics and expected to set the example to them," Cora added.

Her husband was gaining some confidence in the matter. "I don't wish to be forward, but some might think it unprofessional for staff members to carry out an act like this, publicly," Robert said.

Finally Mrs. Hughes could sense something from Carson. His back had straightened, his chin had been raised. He was trying to maintain a sense of dignity in this.

She thought back to the other night, the night he had invited her back to his room, when she had followed wordlessly, thoughts and images churning through her mind. The routine and drudgery of their work long forgotten. How he had cocooned her hand in his, looked at her so gently, and then kneeled down in front of her, asking her with that disarming confidence to be his wife.

She remembered the feeling then, the shock, the sense that this wasn't real, the tightening of his hand as he waited for her answer. How she knew right away that this was all she had ever wanted, and how she had fought the tears as she nodded and whispered, "yes." In that moment she hadn't thought of the consequence for her employment. There was only the promise of life with him. But _he_ had thought of it. Carson, ever prepared, had reached into his waistcoat pocket…

Elsie looked around. The room was silent, and everyone was staring at her. "I'm sorry could you repeat that?" she said.

"I asked if we were correct to say that you... engaged in a romantic display in front of other staff and family members," Robert said.

She wanted to look at Carson, but kept her eyes trained on her employer. "Yes. That is correct."

"Now Mrs. Hughes," Cora said with a smile bathed in good intentions, "how serious-"

There was a noise from the corner of the drawing room, and everyone turned. The door opened. Alfred walked in and stood to attention at the wall.

"Pardon the interruption M'Lord," he said, before announcing, "Her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess."

A short figure, that of the older woman, stepped gingerly into the room, dressed in a dark purple dress with sequins and aided by her cane. Alfred gave a small bow and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Violet looked around. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked.

"Mama," Robert exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise. We didn't expect you this afternoon."

"I was passing through and thought I would stop by," she said. She headed for the chairs. "I also must speak to Cora about the lady's luncheon next week."

"Ah," Robert said. Cora smiled tightly.

Violet stared at them all from her now-seated position, eyes and face open with curiosity. "Is this some sort of meeting?"

"We're discussing a staffing matter with Carson and Mrs. Hughes," said Cora.

"I see," Violet said, then furrowed her brow. "But why is Robert involved?" Staffing matters were typically overseen by the lady of the house, which meant Lord Grantham didn't need to be in the room.

The Granthams looked at each other. "We thought it would be easier to discuss this... together."

"Discuss what?" said Violet. Then a look of recognition passed over her face. "This relates to what you were all discussing at dinner last night."

Elsie resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at the image of the Granthams indulging in downstairs gossip.

Robert nodded. "I'm sure it's nothing for us to be too concerned about, but Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had a momentary lapse of judgement at the servants ball. I'm afraid they had an... intimate encounter in front of the other staff."

Carson was struggling to hold his poise. It was excruciating to hear this told to the Dowager Countess.

"Oh," Violet said, putting a hand to her chest. "Oh my."

"We just think it could be a problem, if the managers of our staff are distracted from their duties," said Cora.

Violet nodded. "Yes. I have to agree," she said. "It _is_ hard to find good servants these days. Although, didn't two of your other servants get married? Anna and Bates was it?"

"Yes," said Cora. "And that's fine. Only we would rather not see the same happen with our _butler and housekeeper_." She arched her eyebrows on those last words.

"Of course," Violet said. "Well. Carry on."

Lord Grantham shifted his feet uncomfortably and turned back to Carson and Mrs. Hughes, who were staring ahead like drilled soldiers. He tried not to think about what might be going through their minds. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice. His mother again.

"Robert," Violet said. "If I may…" She used her cane to leverage herself out of the chair and walked towards them. Lord Grantham gave her a questioning look, and she put up a hand. "I have actually seen this sort of thing happen before. It is not so unusual. Would you mind terribly if I interjected?"

Robert exchanged a glance with his wife, who gave a single nod. "Of course, mama."

Violet cast an eye at the butler. "Mr. Carson. I've known you for many years." She paused, puckering her lips.

"And it has been a pleasure to serve your Ladyship," his deep voice boomed.

Violet nodded. "And the same goes for you, Mrs. Hughes. My son and his wife simply wouldn't manage if it weren't for you both. But they seem to think you've struck up some sort of relationship. Is that true?"

Carson twitched his nose. "I wouldn't say that exactly, M'Lady."

"Well how long have you both had this downstairs liaison?"

The pair looked at one another. Mrs. Hughes spoke up. "We haven't, your Ladyship. This was all very out-of-the-ordinary for us. And we apologise for being so familiar-"

Violet put up her hand and closed her eyes, bidding her to stop. "That's fine." She turned to the butler. "Carson, I'm going to ask you a very direct question."

"Yes, M'Lady."

She gestured towards Elsie. "How long have you been in love with this woman?"

Lord Grantham's eyes widened. As if this meeting weren't uncomfortable enough, now his mother was discussing romance between the servants.

Carson heard the question, and opened his mouth to answer. He thought of the night of the ball. How he had kneeled in front of the woman he loved, how he had summoned every ounce of courage in his body to ask her to marry him, the surge of elation he'd felt when she answered in the affirmative.

Then he had told her he didn't how, or when, they would truly be able to get married. "It poses a great risk to our positions," he'd said. They'd need to keep it secret, for a while at least. She had nodded, and agreed.

Then he had pulled something out of his waistcoat pocket - _I want to show you something_, he had said earlier on that evening - and tugged lightly on her hand. To her surprise he slipped a small, golden band onto her finger.

"Oh my God," she'd whispered.

"It was my mother's," said Carson, looking back up at her. "And I've kept it here for the day I could give it to you."

Elsie had felt her heart tighten. "It's beautiful," she said.

"I want it to be a symbol for us," he said. "Because it may be some time before we can get married, _and_ keep our positions at Downton. So for now, within these four walls…" He'd trailed off, unsure of how to say the next few words.

Elsie understood. "Within these four walls, we'll be husband and wife," she said.

"Yes," he said. "Is that acceptable to you?"

She had put a hand to his weathered cheek, grazing the hidden stubble with her thumb, grateful that he could be so forward and yet so considerate. "Yes, if you decree it," she'd said, half smiling. "I would like that very much." They would keep it a secret. For now. This room would be their world. He had put his hands on her knees to push himself up towards her and she had accepted his kiss again, tenderly cupping his face and hair, thinking of him for the first time as her husband and finding the thought so familiar it was like coming home.

Now Carson had to answer the Dowager's question. How long had he been in love with her? If he gave her the truth it was risking his position at Downton. If he lied, it would be an injustice to the woman he wanted to call his wife.

"It is difficult to answer that, your Ladyship," he said.

"Mama, I think you've misunderstood," Lord Grantham interrupted. "You see, Carson and Mrs. Hughes behaved the way they did just the _other night_. It's not something that's been going on for longer than that."

"I'm aware of that," Violet snapped. "But he can still answer the question." She looked at Carson expectantly.

"I suppose…" he ventured, looking off. "If I had to put a time on it, I would say perhaps, seven…"

"'Seven' what?" said Violet.

"Years," Carson said softly. "Seven years. Perhaps more." He paused and noted the shocked faces in the room. "As I say it is difficult to recall. I've loved her for a long time." Elsie's heart clenched as she stared at the floor.

"And you, Mrs. Hughes?" said Violet.

The Dowager's question collided with Elsie's memory of that night. She saw Carson's gentle face, the cold, surprising sensation of the ring being slipped onto her finger. The warmth that had spread inside her.

"I'm not entirely sure," she told the Dowager, then tightened her lips and took a breath. "Longer. I think it may be longer than that for me."

Now it was Carson's turn to look startled. Violet looked back at her son and Cora, and cocked her head. "Why am I not surprised."

Lord Grantham looked confused. Violet addressed him again. "Robert, you've got two perfectly reliable servants who have had feelings for one another for upwards of seven years and who, as far as we know, have not acted on those feelings until the servants ball of the other night." She gave her son a slightly condescending look. "I daresay they have some right to finally coming out with it. Look at your valet Bates for Heaven's sake." She gestured her crinkled hands grandly. "I mean_ why_ should young people have all the fun?" Violet turned around and sat back on the chair, surveying the scene, her work done.

Elsie stifled a smile and glanced at Carson. She saw in an instant that he looked hopeful, relaxed, and as he turned to her, his eyes told her that from now on, they did not have to hide anymore.


	7. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, etc. Here's the final chapter, and just to warn you it gets hot under the collar, hence I am changing the rating. But these guys deserve each other, so there. **_

**Epilogue**

That night, when all the work was done, when the family had retired to bed and the only sound to be heard was the wind whistling through the cracks in the brickwork and the occasional tapping of branches on windows, Carson sat upright in his bed, dressed in his nightshirt, holding a book. It was late, and his mind was on other things.

Thanks to the Dowager's meddling, the meeting with the Granthams had not led to dismissal or even a thwarting of his relationship with Mrs. Hughes. Lord and Lady Grantham had said the pair could eventually be married if they wanted, but if that proved a distraction to their work, things would have to be re-evaluated.

Carson had let out a long, silent sigh of relief. It would be some time before they could be formally wed, but for now they at least had their own secret commitment.

After the meeting, Carson had stopped Elsie in the doorway to his pantry downstairs. "I think we're old enough to decide such matters for ourselves," he'd told her quietly. They had been so close their bodies were almost touching, already steeped in the careful, hurried actions of clandestine lovers. "We've waited long enough for this."

"Have we?" Elsie said. "Don't forget we could have done this a long time ago." She eyed one of the kitchen maids who was sweeping at the end of the corridor, hoping she didn't look in their direction.

Carson nodded reluctantly. "Be that as it may," he said, "We're here now. Together, and aware."

Elsie had felt a warmth pervade her belly. "Mr. Carson," she whispered, "Have you any idea how much I wish you could kiss me right now?"

He had stared at her, his mouth open, and she'd let out a breath. "Now. I must see to the new linen order. I gather you've got work to do too." She'd put a hand on his chest, wishing momentarily that she could slip it under his waistcoat to the warm skin underneath, then walked down the corridor, her heels clicking and her chin raised.

Now as Carson sat in his room, looking at his book, he wondered if he had misinterpreted her actions. He wondered if she would want to wait until they were married, play things by the book just as they were expected to do. He wondered -

There was a small knock on the door. He shifted in his bed. "Yes."

The door opened and Elsie's face appeared, prompting a small pulse of desire in him. She looked very different in her dressing gown, her dark hair let down behind her back. More like herself, Charles thought. She slipped in and shut the door quietly behind her. His heart pounding, he put down his book and peeled the blankets off his body. He stood and walked to her, slowly. She was still facing the door, waiting for the right moment to turn around.

Soon he was standing behind her. "You came," he said softly.

She nodded, every nerve in her body tingling in anticipation. "I thought I'd come in, to say goodnight." She turned and looked up, saw his face had softened into an expression of kindness.

"I can hardly believe this has happened to us," he said. He reached for one of her stray hairs and pushed it away from her face. She let her eyes close at the lightness of his touch. He placed a hand on her waist, and saw her chest rise and fall as her breath quickened. She was forgetting the obligations to the house, the guilt of pursuing her wants. There was only him.

She opened her eyes. "You do know that I always wanted this, just as much as you did," she said, as quietly as she could. "You know that don't you?"

He nodded, slid his hand down to her hip.

"I would always have said 'yes,'" she added, almost a whisper. She put a hand on his chest again, and now only the soft fabric of his night shirt separated her from him. He looked down and saw the gold band on her finger, and his heart swelled. He grasped her hand to his chest, and bent down to kiss her, expressing every ounce of longing for her with his lips.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck and let him explore her mouth, then her chin and neck, leaning back so he could do with her as he wished. She suddenly wanted him to feel every part of him, to see him in this completely different light, and to her own surprise she began undoing the buttons on his nightshirt.

He looked down at her in surprise, then kissed her again, more passionately than before. He pulled at her dressing gown and she let it slide of, and within moments they were on the bed, pulling at what remained of one another's garments. Carson tugged the sheets and blankets over them, ensconcing them in warmth, not wanting her to be cold. Their longing for one another overwhelmed even the tiniest scruples about their nakedness now, and her heart exploded with desire as he rained kisses on her neck.

Then he looked into her eyes and kissed her mouth again, softly. Her eyes told him that she was ready. He let his hand slide down her thigh, and she naturally opened herself to him. Then his broad shoulders were squarely over her and she gasped as he entered her, feeling pain at first, but then soon enough a sense of perfect joining. He looked down and kissed her again, tenderly, wanting her to be comfortable. She nodded and kissed him back, letting him know that she was. Holding himself up on his elbows he pushed deeper into her, suddenly stimulating something inside her that she hadn't experienced for years, even in her dreams.

She panted at his ear, clawed at his back, and instinctively thrust back with her hips. She wanted more of him, all of him. He thrust down into her, pushing as deep as he could, slow and steady at first, then quickening his pace. She cried out, forgetting that the walls were paper thin, unable to control herself. She arched her neck and then her back at the sensation, at the explosion of the senses that was happening between her legs. Encouraged by the reaction he was getting Carson continued, eliciting soft moans from the woman beneath him, who had now let her hand float up to the back of his neck to tangle intoxicatingly with his hair.

Amid the waves of pleasure, the thrill of their first love-making, a memory drifted into Elsie's mind. That of her dance with this man at the servants ball, the first time they had held one another so closely after the years of separation, and had their first taste of a deeper intimacy that awaited - a dance of passion that they might never have dared to think about before that night.

She clung to him, daring the world to even try bringing them apart, and let him take her wholly and completely as his powerful back moved rhythmically over her. They were nearing their peak and he kissed her long and hard, bringing her back to him and away from the memory, back into the moment they could finally own together. He drove into her once more and he gasped as she cried out, a white noise erupting in their minds as they went over the summit of ecstasy.

His movements slowed to a stop and he rested on her for a moment, exhaling warm breaths onto her neck. She rubbed his back lovingly, and let him roll over beside her. They lay there in silent meditation, staring at the ceiling, his hand cupping to top of her thigh, the sheet covering their lower halves.

Elsie noticed a small crack in the ceiling and followed its trajectory to another crack and then another, until it finally reached the wall. Life could take you to unexpected places, she thought, no matter how late in the day. She shifted onto her side and leaned on her hand, staring at his profile, studying the contours of his face and nose. The man she had secretly longed for, now hers. She smiled to herself, and seeing the movement in the corner of his eye Carson turned to face her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, not for the first time. She marvelled at his concern for her.

She nodded. "Yes. I'm very much all right."

He looked back up at the ceiling. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like that."

Elsie placed a hand on his bare chest. "It was wonderful," she said softly. He smiled at the ceiling, content and reassured.

They let a few more minutes pass, enjoying the moment. Then she spoke. "I suppose I should go back to my room soon."

He turned to her. "Stay a while longer, will you?" He reached over and grazed her cheek again with his hand, tracing her chin with his thumb.

She smiled at him. "All right." She draped an arm over his chest and pulled him closer to her, nestling herself into his arms.

They lay together for far longer than they were supposed to. Far longer than any person who worked in domestic service should have done, into the early hours, and the new day that marked the beginning of a new chapter for their lives.

**- THE END -**


End file.
